Say Something
by UniqueStreak
Summary: "Her pain felt so small, so insignificant compared to what she witnessed every day. How could she let a broken heart overcome her, when every day she saw families torn apart, futures being stolen, countless lives pointlessly destroyed by the evil in the world. Compared to that, her pain was nothing." Inspired by the song "Say Something" by A Great Big World.


**Disclaimer:**__I do not own any piece of or rights to The Mentalist. I do not own any piece of or rights to "Say Something" by A Great Big World. No copyright infringement intended.

**Author's Note:**

This was inspired by the song "Say Something" by A Great Big World, because every time I hear these lyrics I think of Jane and Lisbon, and how Lisbon must've felt loving Jane. It captures her love, their friendship, just… Jisbon. To me, it fits perfectly after 6 x 08, during the "2 years later" in Lisbon's perspective. Maybe it's just psychopathic wishful thinking, but the angst I imagine Lisbon felt just made the rest of the season more intense and eventually satisfying Hope you like it!

"**Say Something" by A Great Big World**

"_Say something, I'm giving up on you  
I'll be the one, if you want me to  
Anywhere I would've followed you  
Say something, I'm giving up on you_

__

And I am feeling so small  
It was over my head  
I know nothing at all

__

And I will stumble and fall  
I'm still learning to love  
Just starting to crawl

__

Say something, I'm giving up on you  
I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you  
Anywhere I would've followed you  
Say something, I'm giving up on you  


_And I will swallow my pride  
You're the one that I love  
And I'm saying goodbye_

__

Say something, I'm giving up on you  
And I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you  
And anywhere I would've followed you (Oh-oh-oh-oh)  
Say something, I'm giving up on you  


_Say something, I'm giving up on you  
Say something..."_

Moonlight streamed through the half-parted shades of Teresa Lisbon's bedroom, causing her pale cream skin to glow softly.

_Say something_, Lisbon thought as she lay under the covers, eyes heavy with the fatigue of another sleepless night. Her bed spread out beneath her, cold, empty, a constant reminder of her failure. Even when her body was firmly tucked away from the eclipsing smile of Patrick Jane, her mind and heart still kept him company wherever he wandered. _He's stolen my heart and he doesn't even know it._

_But,_ she thought, _that's not exactly true._ _He knows it, and he still hasn't said anything. _And that's what hurt most of all. Her heart still longed for Jane, but her mind was telling her it was time to give up. He had chances, too many to count, to tell her how he feels, and she's sure he knows how she feels about him. Only the most beautiful, desperate, unconditional love could cause someone to betray her friends, risk her career and endure infinite heartbreak for someone still madly in love with a ghost. But that didn't change the fact that she hadn't heard a _word_ from him since he ran away. That she didn't mean enough to him for him to tell her _anything,_ even if they weren't the words she was so desperate to hear.

_I deserve that much, at least_, Lisbon thought. She should be angry, but tonight she couldn't find the strength. Tonight, the longing and hopelessness were winning.

Her pain felt so small, so insignificant compared to what she witnessed every day. How could she let a broken heart overcome her, when _every day_ she saw families torn apart, futures being stolen, countless lives pointlessly destroyed by the evil in the world. Compared to that, her pain was nothing.

But that didn't stop the emotions from raging inside her. Sadness, yearning, abandonment, friendship, anger. Love. Crashing against her, wave after wave, wearing her down. _He left me._ The words constantly played in her head, over and over until she felt them branded into her heart. Teresa remembered the fear, the uncertainty, the apprehension when she realized Jane had found Red John. The terror that washed over her when she realized that this time, it was for real. She remembered the anger that he hadn't trusted her enough to let her in on his plan. The expected disappointment when she found the body and finally acknowledged that Jane had never believed in anything as strongly as his vengeance. The confusion and disbelief, the denial, and eventually resignation, when she heard his voicemail and realized she wasn't, never had been, enough for him to stay.

She loved him. She was in love with him. She missed him. So much it hurt. But it hurt almost as much to realize she wasn't enough. Patrick Jane was a man who had it all, only to have it all taken from him. She knew he was a different person then, less compassionate, less kind. But in spite of his flaws, he had Angela, and he loved her and Charlotte with his whole heart. When they were murdered, his heart crumbled, like a house made of cards. She was a fool to think that once their deaths were avenged, there would be enough room in his heart for her, that the cards were strong enough to build a new house one day. After all, how could she compare? Falling in love had never been her priority, always a distant fantasy that paled in comparison to her ambition. And she was older now, possibly too old for children. She could never keep up with Jane the way Angela must have, always outsmarting the best of the best. She just slowed him down, with her need for explanations and proper procedure. Even the other women he had shown interest in over the years had all been more capable of loving Patrick Jane. She had never equaled his talent at reading people, the way Kristina Frye had. She had never captured his attention, mesmerized him the way Erika Flynn had. She felt like a teenage girl, extraordinarily un-extraordinary, in love with the dazzling, popular superstar. Wrongly thinking she was special enough for him to notice her. No, of course she knew she wasn't enough.

But she very much wished she was.

She was thankful she had the good fortune to know him closely, to consider him a friend. Her best friend, even. She wouldn't have missed it for anything. She just wished she was strong enough to have loved him without falling in love with him. She used to be stronger. She used to shake her head at the girls who lost any semblance of their independence when it came to a guy. She wondered how anyone could value themselves based on what some guy thought of them. _Jane wasn't just some guy_, she defended. But, she supposed that's what they _all_ thought.

_It's funny,_ Lisbon thought remotely, _how love swallows so many silly things. Like pride._ _And in its place love leaves even sillier things. Like wishes. Like heartache. Like regret._ Her greatest regret, she thought, was not saying goodbye. Jane had always told her, warned her, his revenge came first. But she realized that she never fully acknowledged his warning until she was Red John's body, heard Jane's final message. And then she realized that she _had _said goodbye, that she and Jane had been saying goodbye a little bit every day since he told her he loved her. A little bubble formed in her chest at the memory. _He told me he __**loved**__ me, _Teresa thought.

But then he took it back.

Teresa closed her eyes, searching for the sleep that eluded her. Her hand reached across the bed, searching for the warm companion that so often starred in her dreams, accompanied by a blue teacup and a beautiful smile. When she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that he lay next to her, snoring softly, his face innocent in sleep, but not quite peaceful. She smiled, and her heart squeezed in her chest at the image dancing before her eyelids. Wishing so desperately that her imagination could become reality, she reached out to touch him, just wanting to join her hand with his.

She grasped.

But her fingertips closed around nothingness.


End file.
